I swear the Nation’s Tri Race Report is coming, and that it will be much happier than this entry. Because Nation’s was awesome and energizing and I couldn’t have been happier with that day. But today is not that day. Today is a not good day. It’s a day when my health obstacles have locked me into a self-loathing pity party, and the feeling of being betrayed by my own bones and body seems insurmountable and unfair as hell.

So that’s what today is about. I would not judge you if that opening sent you running from this page, but I’ll continue nonetheless.

First a quick two-weeks-ago detour to confirm that my right ankle is indeed stress fractured. I knew going into the ortho that that was going to be the diagnosis so I felt pretty numb to it. I told my poor doc that, f*** it, I’m finishing out the season. I figure I spent the last two falls in a boot dropping out of races, so, fully realizing I might complete the fracture if I race on, I’ll take that chance this year and do the races I gleefully (stupidly) signed up for back in the healthy days of winter.

Except for Augusta 70.3. The doc signed my refund form (I have learned now to always buy insurance) so I’ll be foregoing Georgia this year. That’s fine, Scott and I are actually moving the day after the race so it was going to be tight anyway. But I am a go for Army 10 and most importantly, for New York. I also signed up for a sprint this weekend (Giant Acorn) because after the awesomeness of Nations I didn’t want to be done multi-sporting for the year.

Aaaaanyhow, meandering back to that stress fracture, my ortho agreed that my bones seem excessively unreliable and sent me to get a Dexascan – i.e. a bone density test. Going into the test I was torn. Obviously I didn’t want to hear that I have a bone density issue, osteopenia or even osteoporosis. But having a definitive answer   would at least offer some comfort and closure (and maybe absolve me of any fault in my injuries.) With a diagnosis and a reason for the breaks, there would be a recourse: work with an endocrinologist and nutritionist and my ortho and try to do something about the bone density.

But of course that was not to be. I got my results back a few days ago and I’m in the normal range for my age. So, yay? Back to the drawing board? I have been speaking with a nutritionist and will see if I can do better there, but I don’t have a lot of hope that a diet adjustment will heal my cracky (crappy) ankles. I already eat pretty well, and my biggest vice, wine, ain’t going anywhere.

So, back to today. * Sips wine. * Today the last few weeks finally hit me like Tanya Harding. (To the ankle though, not the knee.)

I finished up work a little later than I had hoped, and my plan to head to Hains Point for a short bike/brick ahead of Sunday’s sprint had to contend with the last day of summer’s shrinking daylight. I got all my crap together and headed out the door around 6:45. I was about to call the elevator up to my floor when I started doing the math in my head. (Never good.) Once I got to the car, loaded up Koopa Troop, and got to the Point, it’d be after 7pm. And that’s without accounting for the Pope-ageddon traffic fuckery going on in DC right now. Then, 45-60 mins on the bike to cover around 15 miles would have me hitting my run very much in the dark. And honestly, I don’t know how safe it is there in the dark. Plus, not knowing how the ankle would be, I knew there was a chance I’d get a mile in and have to walk the next two back to the car.

I hemmed and hawed at the elevator (which for me means a string of almost inaudible f-bombs and groans) and decided to scrap the Point.

So what to do instead?

It was late enough that the Y pool would likely be packed. We’re moving so my trainer is in storage, and again, thanks to el Pope, I was wary of riding my bike down to the mall or anywhere else, including Hains. Normally I’d turn such an evening into a run. But of course I couldn’t do that. And that’s the point in the crazy brain train when I started to emotionally rupture.

As my irritation and anger and blood pressure all climbed, the cruel bitch of a cycle kicked in where, all I want is a run to relieve tension, but the very inability to run is what’s provoking said tension.

It ended in tears. And no workout. (I did do [solidcore] this morning to be fair, and biked a few miles there and back. But I really needed a double today to make up for some Sat-Mon laziness.)

Instead Scott and I picked up boxes and bubble wrap, and I confessed to him how unhappy I am. How unfair it all seems. (Knowing full well how toddleresque calling anything “unfair” is.) How scared I am that I am going to have to run a marathon in 6 weeks with almost zero run training under my belt. How bad that fact makes med feel about all this fundraising and asking people to donate – knowing how pathetic and unprepared my performance will be that day. And how terrified I am for my future in endurance sports knowing this will probably always be an issue, and knowing that on Monday I am committing once more to try for 140.6 next summer.

So today was hard and it was a reckoning and I was angry and honest and a little petulant. And in a few hours my alarm is going to go off and while I’m likely to still be feeling pretty crummy, I’m going to have to get in the pool and swim/bike/limp onward. I don’t have a happy note to end it with today. This journey (and I realize this is the point) is tough, and often unforgiving and lonely, and I just hope it’s worth it. Worth something. * Last sip of wine. *